


old pine, hungry pine

by jupiterrism



Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe, Gundala (2019)
Genre: M/M, Pining, ghazul is not a tsundere here yay, no beta we post like illiterates, this is just 6k of ramblings without anything resembling plots, what even is this, writer is dumb and they know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 15:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21376000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterrism/pseuds/jupiterrism
Summary: Ghani Zulham doesn't do half-hearted crush. That's why it's safe to say that he's in love with Ganda Hamdan.
Relationships: Ghani Zulham (Ghazul)/Ganda Hamdan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	old pine, hungry pine

Ghani Zulham doesn't do half-hearted crush. Feelings to him come in such intensity that it always eats him from the inside; fiery and all-consuming. For him, it's always go big or go home — there's nothing in between.

That's why it's safe to say that he's in love with Ganda Hamdan. The strange, twisting feeling tugging his heartstrings, the way his heart leaps inside his ribcage — _ fuck _ if it's not love. It leaves him frenzied, keeping him awake at nights. Ghani knows he sounds like a teenager in love but that's how it is.

Realization doesn't hit him like a freight train. It comes to him in a wave, giving him a moment to comprehend his feelings, rather than throttling him.

* * *

It goes like this:

Normally, Ghani doesn't get sick. It's something in his genes, his strong immune system that allows him to spend 365 days out of the year not lying like a limp doll on the bed.

Of course, out of all things he excels in, controlling the weather isn't one of it. It's the rainy season, and it's only fitting for Ganda to leave the umbrella at home. They are in a museum, standing by the doorway, and staring at the gloomy sky.

"Pak," Ganda calls out next to him, brows drawn into a slight frown. "Saya ambil mobilnya dulu, ya, biar bapak ngga kehujanan." Ghani glances at him, look cool and assessing, just to make Ganda squirms under his gaze. It's fun, most of the times.

Ghani takes a step out, another inch closer to the downpour, and motions Ganda to follow him. "Ngga usah, saya ngga masalah basah-basah sedikit." He catches Ganda's surprised look, a quirk on his lips bringing a smile to the other man despite his frown.

So they run. Turns out, he's drenched, not remotely close to 'a little wet'. Ganda turns the heater on during the ride but that doesn't stop the itch on his nose from coming. A shudder runs through him and oh no — _ oh no. _Soon, a headache takes over him, leaving his eyes watery and dazed.

Ghani doesn't get sick, he won't ever admit that he's sick. But the next morning, one look from Ganda and the man already has a hand on Ghani's upper arm, steering him back into his place. He looks deadly serious and worried too, much to Ghani's amusement.

"Ganda," he starts, voice raspy and rough. His throat tickles and he muffles a cough into the crook of his neck. "Ngapain? 'Kan kita mau ke museum lagi." Talking is painful for him, throat convulsing with a click.

The other man still looks worried, despite Ghani's words. Truthfully, Ghani knows he doesn't look too hot right now. His nose is runny, red-rimmed eyes, and he looks pale even under his tan. Not to mention his voice — scratchy and rough — and moving is a torture to his head.

Ghani lilts to a side, eyes clenching shut as the world seems to spin on its axis, and he feels a strong arm circling his waist tightly. "Bapak sakit," Ganda sounds exasperated underneath his concerned facade, tugging Ghani upright and lets him lean against him, "istirahat dulu, Pak. Besok kita ke museum."

There is something about the other man that makes something inside Ghani twists slightly. Ganda is warm against his shivery skin, strong and steady, and he smells faintly like fabric softener. Another cough rattles his bones, making him doubles over, and Ganda has his hand on his back, rubbing soothingly.

"Kamu bos saya sekarang?" Ghani manages through his wheezing, taking a deep breath to control himself. His chest aches, throat burning, and it's an effort to get himself to his place. Ganda is chuckling, already rummaging through his fridge like he owns the place and all Ghani can do is sit back and tries not to whine like a baby 

Watching Ganda cooking is therapeutic. There is something hypnotic about it — the man looks completely at ease in his kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the look of concentration on his face. Ghani watches him raptly, analyzing his every movement, and he's sure the warmth in his stomach has nothing to do with his fever. Ganda twitches and turns around, eyes meeting his, and something akin to bashful smile gracing his feature.

_ Oh _.

His devotion is beyond compare, and while Ghani often treats him as his lackey — a henchman, not so far from Ganda's previous job — Ganda never complains. Ghani is not sure if the man has the nerve to _ complain _ about working with him, but despite his grumbles, Ganda is never more than five steps away from him. Loyalty can be bought, just like how he got Ganda in the first place, but —

The couch dips as Ganda sits down next to him, a bowl of steaming soup in one hand and a spoon in the other, and there's a sheepish smile on his face. Ghani blinks, looking stunned momentarily, and he opens his mouth to at least chide Ganda about decorum only to get a spoon stuck inside his mouth. Surprise causes him to swallow the soup, warm broth soothing his dry throat, and as Ganda takes the spoon out of his mouth, he watches Ghani raptly.

"Ngga panas 'kan, Pak?" His eyes are clouded with concern and Ghani has a hard time looking away. If he leans closer, he could — 

_ No _. Ghani needs to stop watching romantic comedies.

Rather than going with his impulse, Ghani shakes his head. "Engga," he croaks out, snuffling quietly. "Supnya enak."

The beam Ganda offers him steals the breath out of his lungs and boy, isn't he in trouble? He should be berating him for treating him like a helpless little boy but — Ganda offers him another spoonful of soup and as his mouth closes over it…

Maybe this is okay. This is definitely not okay. He's having feelings for Ganda and he's going to do what he knows best: bury those down and continues his life.

* * *

It's two weeks after the realization and among the things he's established, one stands out: Ghani Zulham never pines.

(Fun fact: he now_ does _.)

He's closing 40, for God's sake — his grand plan might make up his whole midlife crisis, pining over someone is not in his agenda. But his whole body aches for it, and while he's the type to go for anything he wants with any means, Ghani doesn't think he can do this. There is a fine line — if he pursues _ this, _whatever he wants to do with Ganda… it will endanger both of them and his plans too. But —

No buts. For the first time in his life, Ghani puts his heart over his head. He wants Ganda and he's going to do _ everything _ to get the man.

First, he needs to stop blushing like a teenager anytime Ganda comes anywhere near him. It's getting embarrassing, but Ghani is sure he can do that.

Second, he needs to find out whether Ganda likes men or not. If the other man is as straight as an arrow… well. _ Well _ — Ghani is 40% sure the man is at least bisexual. He's seen him looking at _ him _, once-over and very thorough. Seduction will work, or Ghani could just ask him.

Even if Ganda leans the other way, it will be useless if he doesn't harbour the slightest feeling for Ghani. So the third thing he needs to do is to make Ganda falls in love with him.

Yes, _ yes _ , that will do. Ghani nods to himself, eyes fixed on the scripture in front of him, though his mind is wandering. He will act _ nice _ to Ganda and hopefully, it's enough. It has to be.

* * *

His boss is acting strange, _ stranger _ than usual. While Ghazul is not one for dramatic flair, unlike Pengkor and his ominous, drawling words, the man has his moments too.

Like now.

They are walking along an empty land, searching for something — Ganda heard Ghazul murmuring about a tomb or something — when Ghazul suddenly stops him. The man appears… Ganda honestly couldn't read him, but his eyes are bright as he stares at him and he has a hand on Ganda's forearm.

"Kita istirahat dulu," Ghazul hums, letting go of his forearm. His boss turns around with a swish of long coat before heading back to the car. His skin tingles from where Ghazul touched him earlier. "Saya bawa makanan." The last one is uttered so quietly Ganda nearly misses it.

Ganda follows him without any question, though his mind is reeling inside his head. Ghazul never brought food before, let alone sparing some for him. But when he picks up a fabric bag full of plastic containers, Ganda couldn't help but stare at him in confusion.

"Bapak masak sendiri?" _ Cah kangkung, tempe bacem, ayam goreng… _ Ganda brightens up at the sight of fried chicken, before he averts his gaze to Ghazul. The man is staring at him, something hopeful crosses his features. "Wah, ayam goreng! Bapak tau aja kalau saya lama ngga makan ayam goreng."

Ghazul is still looking at him strangely and he looks almost… nervous as they start to dig in, sitting on the trunk side by side. The man brought paper plates with metal utensils and they're eating in silence, except for the noises Ganda lets out. The chicken is surprisingly tasty, very juicy and flavor explodes in his tongue at the first bite.

"Enak banget, Pak!" Ganda doesn't know that Ghazul could cook, let alone something this good. The other man is still next to him, glancing at him, and when their eyes meet, Ganda catches the pleased curl on his lips and the flush on his cheeks.

Wait, _ what _. Is Ghazul blushing?

Before Ganda could look more into it, Ghazul already turns away and munching on a piece of _ tempeh _. Under the dim light, the man's side profile is stunning, all sharp angles and shadows — he knows his boss is handsome, Ganda might be dumb but he's not blind. He swallows down, blinking a little, before averting his gaze away. Their arms brush when Ganda shifts into a more comfortable position, but his boss doesn't push him away.

The silence is serene and Ganda feels something eases between them. Tension, strain — whatever that is, it's gone when Ghazul leans slightly against him.

* * *

Another thing that stirs his confusion in him is the way Ghazul treats him now. He's… nice, to put it lightly, always has smiles to spare and kind touches lingering on his back. _ Something _ has changed but Ganda couldn't put a finger on it, he doesn't know what has changed.

It's raining cats and dogs again, but this time Ganda is prepared. Just as the first drop of rain hits the ground, he whips an umbrella out and offers it to Ghazul, who just blinks at him.

"Biar bapak ngga kehujanan," he says with a grin, pushing the umbrella into his hand. "Nanti sakit lagi kaya dulu."

A quiet huff escapes Ghazul — Ganda has associated the sound as a laughter and that's another weird thing, Ghazul _ laughs _ in front of him now — but he accepts the umbrella. His eyes run along him, critical and intense, causing him to squirm a little.

"Payungnya kecil," Ghazul murmurs, eyes on Ganda, "kamu gimana?"

Out of all things Ganda has expected him to say, his words are not one of it, and it's a surprise to know that Ghazul… cares. Does he really?

Nevertheless, Ganda musters up a grin, waving a hand a little. "Ngga masalah kalau saya, Pak. Saya jarang sakit kok." It's going to be uncomfortable for him during their drive back to Ghazul's place — he left his coat in the office and that means he's going to spend the rest of the day wearing a drenched shirt.

Something settles on his shoulders and Ganda glances up to find Ghazul slinging his _ own _ coat on him, lips pursed a little. "Biar kamu ngga basah," is all Ghazul says before he unfurls the umbrella and holds it above his head. He throws an inpatient look at Ganda when the man only gapes at him, rolling his eyes. "Ganda, ayo."

It takes him a moment to collect himself and Ganda grips the coat, keeping it wrapped tight around him before stepping under the umbrella. The rain doesn't wet his shoulder but it drips down Ghazul's coat, to his horror. It must be worth millions of Rupiah, but as Ganda glances at the other man, he doesn't seem bothered at all. In fact, he looks… abashed. There is color highlighting his cheeks and — Ganda is very confused.

The walk towards the car is short, and as they slip into the car, Ganda shrugs the coat off slings it over the headrest. Ghazul is the middle of furling the umbrella close when his eyes land on the coat. “Maaf, Pak, jasnya basah. Nanti saya cuci dulu sebelum saya kembalikan.” Ganda offers a sheepish grin at the other man, which Ghazul returns with another huff.

“Ngga apa-apa,” he says,voice light and lacking the cryptic edge it usually supports, “dari pada kamu yang kebasahan. Nanti sakit.” Ghazul shuts the door with a thump, offering another quicksilver smile at Ganda.

He truly… _ cares _, and Ganda marvels at the realization with a smile.

* * *

Ghani knows how to play other humans like a doll — manipulation, bribery, and extortion, he masters them all. But what he _ can’t _do is expressing his feelings, let alone appearing genuine. Over the last few months, he’s had hundreds of chances to talk about his feelings to Ganda but every time he opens his mouth, the words died. The occasion always left a bad taste on his tongue, and failure doesn’t sit well with Ghani.

Ghani likes to think that they’ve grown closer, and while Ganda is unsuspecting as always, he always returns Ghani’s smiles with a grin, leaving touches on his back. Those never fail to make his heart skips a beat — no blushes, he can control himself better now. Ganda always says yes to whatever shenanigans Ghani proposed to him, always indulging him.

Of course, good thing never lasts forever.

A phone rings. Not his, no, it comes from the man next to him. While Ghani knows that it's only logical for Ganda to ignore the call, it sparks irritation in him.

"Ganda," he calls out, voice carefully masked into indifference despite his flaring temper. "Kalau ngga mau angkat, tolong matikan."

Ganda notices the way his tone edges towards annoyance, and he offers Ghani a grimace before pulling his phone out of his pocket. Thumb swipes against the screen and the ringtone dies down. "Maaf, Pak. Lain kali saya _ silent _ aja."

Despite the curt nod he gives to Ganda, Ghani couldn't help but mulls over it. He knows that Ganda is an extremely busy man — between working in parliament and being his _ assistant _, the man could always seen receiving phone calls but Ghani knows he always silences the calls. Curiosity gets the better of him and he glances sideways, one eyebrow raised. “Tumben ada yang telepon. Siapa?”

“Ah, Pak,” the other man grumbles good-naturedly with a sheepish grin on his face, “saya sering ditelepon orang, kok.” A pause, his expression shades towards bashful. “Itu pacar saya."

Ghani freezes, blood runs cold. So that’s why the man has been distant for the last few months. His heart seizes in his chest and taking a breath never feel this hard before.

Taking a discreet deep sigh, Ghani turns his head to stare at Ganda, arching one cool eyebrow. His fingertips are numb and there is a twisting feeling inside his chest. Foreign — Ghani is too scared to put a finger on it.

"Baru jadi?" Ghani catches the way Ganda blinks in confusion at the question before a wistful smile crosses his features. He never… saw him like this — sharp planes grow soft even under the dim lights, all mellowed out, and Ghani finds his whole body aches. He never thought that heartache is a literal pain.

Ganda shrugs a shoulder, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in nothing resembling a steady pace. Restless, as if Ghani's question renders him nervous. "Ngga juga, Pak." A soft exhale of breath escapes him and he looks tired all of a sudden. "Udah agak lama, beberapa bulan."

Everything fits. A noncommittal hum slips past him, as casual as he could muster — all Ghani wants is to stop the conversation there but Ganda sounds so… forlorn, he couldn't help asking another question. "Lagi berantem?" 

Next to him, Ganda stills, the lines of his shoulders tensing up. He is an open book to Ghani, and despite his best effort in concealing everything, Ghani could still read him with ease. And apparently, he hits the jackpot because Ganda seems to deflate after the momentary freeze, gaze never leaving the road.

"Ya… begitu, Pak." Another lazy shrug and Ganda aims a crooked grin his way. "Dia ngga suka kalau saya pulang pagi terus."

He shouldn’t feel this elated when Ganda sounds so dejected. But Ghani is a selfish man, and _ this _, this is a chance for him to sweep Ganda off from whoever bastard dating him. 

"Cari yang baru." Ghani carefully hides the wicked joy that threatens to burst, putting on an indifferent mask over his voice. His grip tightens over the handle above his head, "Cari yang mengerti jam kerja kamu."

Ganda lets out a started laugh at that, aiming a wide-eyed gaze at him before shaking his head. He looks amused though. "Ah, 'kan bapak ganteng, jadi gampang kalau cari pacar baru. Kalau saya? _ Boro-boro _, ada yang mau sama saya aja udah bersyukur."

The passing remark doesn't go unnoticed by Ghani — he knows he looks good, _ amazing _ even, but coming from Ganda, it makes him feels strangely warm. Ghani opens his mouth before he catches himself, eyes wide. " _ Saya, Ganda. Saya ngerti jam kerja kamu, saya mau sama kamu _," dies down on the tip of his tongue. He could say that, playing it as a joke for sure, but at this point he doesn't even want to joke about it.

Ghani does what he knows best: swallows down the words, tries not to choke on them, and musters up a slight smile. “Mau saya carikan?” He adds a playful lilt to his voice, revelling the burst of laughter coming from Ganda. As long as he can draw that from Ganda, he has to be content with that, despite the ugly thing twisting his stomach.

* * *

Just like any other man, Ghani Zulham finally cracks. Bravery is never his virtue, but for this, he’s willing to give it a shot. He’s terrified and he doesn’t deal well with feelings, but — 

He’s said to himself: no more buts. His hands tremble, a faint tremor runs through him, and Ghani wishes Ganda won’t notice. He reaches out to tap the other man’s shoulder, stopping Ganda dead on his track as he makes to leave.

“Ganda,” he calls out and he will be damned if his voice shakes, but it _ does _, fuck — “nanti malam kamu ada waktu luang?” 

The other man doesn’t answer immediately like he always did, and if he says no — _ no, I’m busy _ , _ maybe next time _ — maybe it’s time for Ghani to let it go. One, two, three — five breath, and as Ghani opens his mouth to retort something, preferably something along the lines of “ _ it’s okay, nevermind _”, Ganda nods his head. He looks torn, but he musters up a faint smile. “Selalu, Pak. Ada apa?”

Shit, shit, _ shit _— it takes everything in Ghani to keep himself under control and not to turn into a bundle of nervous ball. “Mampir ke tempat saya, ya, jam 7. Ada yang mau saya bicarakan.” Something flickers in Ganda’s eyes. Worry? Fear? Resignation? This is the first time Ghani fails to read someone and it’s unsettling.

“Baik, Pak.” There it is again, the distracted look on his face even as he offers Ghani another soft smile. The look is there and gone in an instant, and as Ganda bids his farewell, Ghani couldn’t help but think he’s just made a great mistake.

* * *

It’s a mistake.

Ganda knows he should’ve said no — it’s his first anniversary with his girlfriend today and they’ve made an appointment, a nice dinner in a restaurant after months of planning — but there was a look in Ghazul’s eyes that made him unable to say ‘no’. Maybe he was afraid he’d anger his boss, but after months of working together with him, he doesn’t think that’s the case.

It’s… _ something _ that has been bothering Ghazul, Ganda knows that, something about the way he finds Ghazul often staring at him. Is he sick? Is he going to _ die _? His mind reels through many questions but one, one he’s carefully shoved into the back of his head. Impossible, there is no way Ghazul would — 

He comes home to his girlfriend pacing in the living room, face twisted into a troubled look. She turns around at the sound of the front door sliding open and halts to a stop, and the look on her face causes his heart to freeze solid in his chest.

"Sayang?" Ganda knows that expression intimately, it's something familiar since they've been arguing a lot. She never gets angry, no, shouting never happened but it’s words, freely offered and jabs straight to his core. Silver tongued, sharp tongue that always renders him speechless, one way or another.

She deflates, scrubbing a hand over her face, before motioning Ganda to comes close. “Ganda.” No pet names, tone devoid of any feelings except resignation. “Saya mau ngomong sesuatu sama kamu.”

Something cold and heavy sinks down his stomach, but he obliges, sitting down on a couch. She stares at him for a moment before gingerly sits down next to him, exhaling heavily. Neither of them does anything to break the silence, tension thick between them.

"Kamu udah tau saya mau ngomong apa," she starts, sounding so dejected that it makes his stomach flips uncomfortably. "Kita… sampai di sini aja."

The penny doesn't drop because he's figured it out the first time he stepped into his room. The dread that he's expected to come doesn't hit him. She must've seen something in his expression because she smiles despite the lines around her eyes and leans in to press a kiss on his cheek.

It feels like goodbye. He saw it coming.

Ganda tries to hold on her, but she has a hand around his wrist and her grip is surprisingly strong as she dislodges his hand. He opens his mouth to at least say something but nothing comes out, not even noise. "Jaga diri kamu baik-baik," she whispers, voice hitching against his ear.

The front door slams close after a moment, the sound rings in silence. His eyes burn a little but his face is dry, and Ganda scrubs a hand over his eyes. He doesn't feel anything — _ couldn't _ feel anything, not even regret. He saw it coming, they both saw it coming.

* * *

It's sometimes after 7 and Ghani keeps glancing at the door, despite the sizzling pan in front of him. He doesn't know what's gotten into him — he was planning to just order something in to make the impending conversation less awkward but he realized that it will feel less intimate, less genuine, if he orders in.

The oil sparks and lands on the back of his palm, and Ghani lets out a groan. "Anjir," he grumbles wholeheartedly, rubbing the pain away. The irritation disappears when he remembers that it's very unlikely for Ganda to come late unless there is an emergency. Ghani glances at his phone — no missed calls, no incoming text messages, no anything from Ganda.

Maybe he's bailing out. Yeah, he's definitely bailing out. Ghani pokes the fried chicken in the pan forlornly, something knotting inside his chest and it makes breathing twice as heavy. He has liquor in his cabinet, bottles of scotch, and what's better than drinking himself out of misery?

Just as he sets the bottle on his dining table, the doorbell rings and Ghani pauses for a moment. Could it be —

It's Ganda, and while he feels his heart jumps in joy, Ghani could sense that there is something wrong with him. The other man is all tense despite the smile on his lips, and his eyes are a blank. "Ganda?" he starts, voice soft and he reaches out to lay a hand on his upper arm.

It's gratifying to know that Ganda doesn't shrug his hand off nor slapping his hand away — he lets Ghani steers him inside and sits him down on the dining chair. The man is still eerily quiet, eyes unseeing even as they land on Ghani. It's unnerving, because Ghani knows that Ganda is never the quiet one even around him.

Slowly, he kneels down in front of Ganda, hands on the other man's knees and squeezes gently. Ganda blinks, as if coming to his senses, and his eyes grow wide at the sight of Ghani on his knees in front of him. "Pak, ngapa—"

"Ganda," Ghani cuts him smoothly, tension unfurling as he catches how light has returned to the other man's eyes. "Ada apa?" If he moves his hands a little to the side, he can catch Ganda's hands in his but — no, _ no _, he has a girlfriend, Ghani can't do that. That's a line he's not willing to cross.

The other man looks stunned, just momentarily before he lets out a heavy sigh. His whole body moves at that, as if he drags the air from deep inside his lungs. "Saya," he murmurs, voice so quiet Ghani has to lean close to catch the words, "baru aja putus, Pak." A pause, a grimace, "diputusin maksudnya."

It startles Ghani into silence and _ fuck _, he can't believe his luck, how is he so lucky — and one dejected look from Ganda puts his mind into a halt. Apparently, he's not done yet. 

"Saya—tapi saya ngga sedih." Ganda frowns to himself, a look of concentration flickers on his face, and he heaves another sigh. "Saya ngerasa lega, karena saya ngga bisa bikin dia bahagia dan sekarang dia udah bebas." His lips curl up into a resigned smile and he brings a hand up to rub his eyes. He doesn't cry, no, but Ghani —

It hits him like a fucking freight train, the realization. If he continues this, whatever Ghani's going to do, can he make Ganda happy? Does he have something to offer that will make Ganda willing to stay with him?

Despite the sudden turmoil in his head, Ghani manages to offer the other man a despondent smile, and before he could think better of his decision, he reaches out to hold place a hand at the other man's forearm. The man stills at the touch but he doesn't say anything, his eyes locked on Ghani.

"Kamu," Ghani murmurs, heart hammering in his chest, "kamu bahagia sama dia?" He couldn't bring himself to look at Ganda — for the first time in his life, he's _ scared _. If he finds disdain in his gaze, that will be the death of him.

But Ganda only sighs and, to Ghani's surprise, he shrugs a shoulder. "Sepertinya… ngga," Ganda says at last and not offering anything else. They're both quiet for a moment and that's it, _this_ is it, the perfect moment for a confession — Ghani slowly gets to his feet, because his knees are aching, and opens his mouth —

"Kamu udah makan? Saya masak ayam."

What the fuck, Ghani Zulham. Just as he says that, a grimace takes over his features, and it takes everything in him not to bash his head against the table. But Ganda lets out a surprised laughter at that and it's so _ beautiful _, Ghani couldn't help but stare and gapes like an idiot.

* * *

The fried chicken is as good as he's remembered. Ganda doesn't know he's _ this _ hungry but first whiff of the chicken causes his stomach to growl. Ghazul is sitting next to him, watching him eat with a smile on his lips. It should be creepy, someone watching him eat, but Ganda couldn't bring himself to care.

Being around Ghazul is like a balm to his aching heart. He knows the man won't offer him empty reassuring words, he doesn't coddle him. But he is there, an anchoring present that stops him from breaking. His hand is cold against Ganda's forearm.

"Oh iya," Ganda says between a mouthful of chicken and rice, "bapak mau ngomongin apa?" He catches Ghazul stills next to him, eyes growing wide. Ganda never saw him like that and he looks almost… scared.

Ghazul takes a breath, eyes never wavering as he stares at him, and exhales heavily. "Saya," he starts, voice quiet but — is he_ shaking _? "saya —"

A pause before he murmurs, so quiet it's almost a whisper. "Saya suka kamu."

_ Huh _? Ganda stares at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Hah?"

Ghazul has his hands covering his face, his shoulders shaking a little. Ganda hopes he's laughing because he wouldn't know what to do if he cries. "Saya suka kamu," he says, louder this time, "udah dari lama." He sighs, and when he puts his hands down, his eyes are wet. "Maaf kalau waktunya ngga tepat."

But his mind is still reeling at the confession so he stares, unblinking. "Bapak," Ganda repeats, sounding as faint as he feels right now, "bapak suka _ saya _ ? Suka, maksudnya suka- _ suka? _" He makes an air quote gesture with his fingers at the word "suka", drawing a snort from Ghazul.

Rolling his eyes, the fondness in his smile morphs into exasperation. "Kamu kaya anak SD. Iya, saya suka-_ suka _ sama kamu." He squirms in his seat, teeth gnawing his lower lip. "Saya ngga berharap apa pun, saya cuma pengen ngomong itu."

Ghazul likes him. Ghazul likes_ -likes _ him. His head feels a bit loopy at that and Ganda chews on his chicken absentmindedly. He knows he's just officially broken up but his heart was just never there from the beginning. _ Something _ for Ghazul is always there, despite his relationship, and this — Ganda doesn't want to regret.

"Pak," Ganda hears himself calling out for Ghazul, despite the screeching in his head. Ghazul glances at him, looking mildly curious. "Kalau saya juga suka bapak, gimana?"

To his surprise, Ghazul frowns. He looks disapproving and something inside Ganda withers at the look. "Ganda," he huffs, hand twitches as if he's going to hold his hand but stopping short, "'kan saya udah bilang, saya ngga berharap apa pun dari kamu. Kamu ngga perlu ngomong kaya gitu."

"Pak," he tries again, brows furrowing a little, and when it doesn't draw any reaction from the other man, Ganda huffs. "Ghani," Ganda says, earning a twitch from the other man, "saya boleh coba lagi besok?" _ What is he doing, what is he doing, what _— 

Ghazul — Ghani? — just chuckles at that, shaking his head with a smile on his lips. It’s a good look on him, Ganda realizes all of a sudden. “Kamu ngga suka laki-laki, Ganda.” He looks indulging and his eyes are soft as he stares at him. Ganda couldn’t help but feel like a child under his gaze. 

“Saya ngga suka laki-laki,” Ganda grumbles, agreeing half-heartedly before leaning back to cross his arms over his chest, “saya sukanya kamu.”

The words earn him a faint flush from Ghani and without another word, he gets to his feet. “Kamu pikirin dulu mateng-mateng, jangan asal ceplos kaya gini. Besok, coba lagi.” And with that, Ghani makes his way to the fridge. “Mau bir?”

Accepting the sudden change in the topic, Ganda nods, suddenly feeling weary.

* * *

It's for the better, it's for the better — he keeps repeating the words like a mantra the whole night. An assurance, an affirmation. There are bags under his eyes, red-rimmed and a little watery. He spent the night thrashing and rolling in his bed, waiting for sleep to come by. 

With a sigh, Ghani steels himself and goes downstairs, where Ganda is waiting for him. It's silly how he acts like a teenager in love, all nerves and bumbling words, but truthfully, he doesn't think he's been this _ gone _ for someone. He glances at the reflection on the elevator — _ yep, looking great, Ghani, you're a mess. _

Ganda is there, leaning against the car, and he perks up at the sight of him. It's dazzling, the beam he aims his way — Ghani couldn't help but takes a stuttering breath at it. "Pagi," he offers, at a loss on what to do, and the look in Ganda's eyes soften.

"Pagi juga, Pak." He's back with the formality and Ghani sighs quietly at that, despite the cold fist around his heart. Things get back to normal, at least. He makes to get into the car, but Ganda has a hand over the door, stopping him short.

"Oh! Tunggu sebentar, Pak! Saya mau —" With that, Ganda scurries away, rummaging through the trunk to pull out a… flower bouquet. There is a grin on his face as he presents it to him, though he's radiating nervous energy. "Buat bapak."

His heart does a flip in his chest as he gingerly takes the bouquet from the other man. It's beautiful — red makes up the most of it. Ghani knows the name — chrysanthemum, rose, and there's a couple of sunflowers perched on top — love, devotion, joy. Hiding a smile, Ghani brings the bouquet to his face and inhales deeply, eyes fluttering close.

"Cantik," he murmurs, can no longer hold back the joy leaping in his chest, and he smiles, wide and bright. Peeking from over the flowers, he catches the relief in the other man's eyes. "Terima kasih, Ganda."

Ganda fiddles with his hand for a bit before he takes a step closer to Ghani, eyes unbearably soft. "Saya udah mikir semalaman. Ngga bisa tidur," he murmurs, gaze locked on Ghani. Ghani couldn't bring himself to look away. "Ini udah pagi dan saya masih—"

"Saya masih suka kamu, Ghani. Sangat suka."

Ghani feels all air punched out of his lungs, head goes dizzy at an alarming rate, and he staggers backwards. In an instant, Ganda has a hand on his elbow, keeping him upright. He never knows relief, but he feels heady with it, tension unfurling on his body.

"Kamu," his breath catches a little and he swallows down the lump in his throat, "kamu yakin?"

From this distance, Ghani can see conviction in Ganda's eyes, and as he nods, Ghani is already pulling him into a hug. "Saya ngga bahagia sama dia karena," his voice is quiet, arms wrapped around Ghani tightly, "karena saya cuma mau kamu. Dari awal."

A soft chuckle escapes his lips and he hugs Ganda tighter, hand fisting on his shirt. He's careful not to crush the bouquet, keeping it on the side as he buries his face on Ganda's shoulder. "Tolong cubit saya, biar saya tau ini bukan mimpi."

What he gets is a soft kiss on the back of his neck, instead of a pinch. Ghani jerks back, staring at the man with wide eyes, and watches as color rises up on his cheeks. As their eyes meet, Ganda grins, halfway cheeky but also bashful. His heart does another flip at that — God, he really got this bad, didn't he? Their fingers intertwine and God, if this is a dream, Ghani prays fervently so he won't ever wake up.

* * *

Ghani Zulham doesn't do half-hearted crush, no. And for the first time in his life, he puts his heart first and no regrets — Ganda is warm against him, skin against skin, breath fanning the top of his head. They're in love and that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck is this


End file.
